


Message

by halloweenanda



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halloweenanda/pseuds/halloweenanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrong number, wrong date, wrong country, right boy. Life can be complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wrong number, sweets.

**To: BrusselSprout**  
 **From: Salem**  
 _I have a date with that guy we met at Lola's party last night. Did he seem sketchy to you or am I just being nutso again? If I don't return home in two hours, assume I've been kidnapped and sold into the slave trade. Avenge me in a way that would make Liam Neeson proud. But most of all, don't leave me to die in the Australian wilderness. It's hot. I have sensitive skin._

Hitting send, I pocketed my phone. The guy's name was Craig and I only agreed to go out with him because Lola had pushed so hard and he looked so embarrassed when I faltered that I couldn't just say no. I didn't understand the point of going out with anyone while I was here. I would be leaving in two weeks to go back to my home in Louisiana. The last few months had been a blast. I'd gotten to do some up close and personal marine life research for my degree, met some really nice people, and now had the chance to tell everyone that I had lived in Australia for a spell, petted a kangaroo, and tried vegemite (which made me incredibly sick). I had done so well in avoiding the opposite sex, politely declining the sparse invitations from my classmates for dates, but then Lola blows it out of the water by very loudly and very publicly announcing that I _just had to go out with Craig. He'll be crushed if you don't._

I hadn't had time to inform my temporary roommate (and new acquired best friend) Brussels that I was going out on a date, so I was hoping that she would respond to my message fairly quickly lest I actually be kidnapped by some guy I don't know. 

Some guy who was already 10 minutes late.

**From: BrusselSprout**  
 _Um, think you got the wrong number, sweets. But if it helps, I feel your pain on the sensitive skin._

My nose crinkled. Wrong number? But that couldn't possibly be right... could it? I had text Brussel before... hadn't I? 

The truth of the matter was that I probably hadn't. She had been my near constant companion since I arrived so I hadn't ever had a need to text or call her. Probably put her number in wrong right from the get go. Great.

**To: ??**  
 _Sorry! Guess I got my friend's number wrong. I'm good at things like that. Again, sorry!_

I waited around for another fifteen minutes before I gave Lola a call. "Where is this guy?"

"Craig?"

"No, Jai Courtney. I heard he was in town. Yes, Craig!" 

She sighed into the phone and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. Lola and I could never maintain the type of friendship I had with Brussel because Lola thinks my sarcasm is terrible. "Maybe you two didn't communicate the meet up place right. I'll text you his number, ok?"

She hung up before I could tell her no. There was definitely no miscommunication. He just stood me up. My phone buzzed twice, the first message from Lola with a number that I assume is Asshole Craig's number. I debated not calling him. What if he's one of those who gets a kick out of standing people up? But then my brain (and ok, a little bit of my pride) decided that even if he were a coward and wouldn't pick up his phone, I could still leave him a voicemail and let him know that a) he was hella rude and b) that I had never wanted to go out with him in the first place. That would teach him or, at least, make me feel better. 

I clicked the number, heart hammering a little too loudly for my liking. My parents used to tell me that I was easily excitable, one of those strange people who cry when they are mad. A hair trigger temper, my twin brother, Sam, liked to tease (although, he had the same temper as me). It rang a half dozen times before he picked up. "Hello?"

"Craig?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"Salem?"

There's a moment of pause, a quick utterance of a swear word and then he launched into his excuses. "Oh my God. I am so, so sorry. I completely forgot that we were supposed to meet today. Are you already there? Have you been waiting long?"

"About 45 minutes now." 

He's rustling around and if I had to guess, I would probably say he was pulling on clothes. "Ok, give me like 15 minutes and I'll be there." The word _no_ is on my tongue but then he's talking again. "Please? I am really sorry. I'll be there as fast as humanly possible, I promise." 

I weighed my options. I could either tell him no and go back to the apartment, maybe see if Brussel wanted to do something. Or I could give him a chance to get here, give him the stink eye and make him feel unworthy of my company (which I would never do. I have a lot of mean-ish thoughts that I never act on). 

"Salem?" 

"Fifteen minutes and then I'm gone." 

"I'm on my way." 

Why was I even bothering? I didn't even like the name Craig. I didn't even really like him. He was cute in a frat boy sort of way but nothing about him was that appealing to me. Why do i always get myself in these situations? 

My phone buzzed again, alerting me to another new messages. 

**From: ??**  
 _It's not a problem. Try not to get yourself sold into slavery. Good luck._

**From: ??**  
 _Did that sound harsh? I would totally avenge you and Liam Neeson would be ridiculously proud of me. But maybe I should know your name and possibly his name in case you do wind up missing. That way I can be like 'Hey, I know that person. Sad.'_

**To: ??**  
 _What a kind offer..._

**From: ??**  
 _No, seriously, though. Dudes are crazy. Since you can't get in touch with your friend, maybe I could be the lifeline to safety? The only thing that stands between civilization and you being stranded in the outback with some guy who wants to wear your skin? My name's Michael, btw._

**To: ??**  
 _You're not instilling much confidence into me. Besides, my friend knows this guy. I'm sure she'd send help._

**From: ??**  
 _Maybe she's in on this skin wearing scheme, too. Hey, I gave you my name... return the favor? Please?_

**To: Michael**  
 _Salem. My date's here. Um... nice talking to you?_

I put my phone back in my pocket as Craig slid into the seat across from me, apologies already pouring from his mouth. He offered to buy me a drink (an alcoholic drink, mind you) and I declined, questioning the rationality of my own brain in situations like this. Did I really think meeting a frat boy for lunch was going to be a good idea? Maybe Sam was right, maybe my brain actually is stupid. 

Thirty minutes into the so-called date, Craig stopped talking (finally) and gave me a tiny smile. "You're not having a good time, are you?" 

I could have lied. It would have been the nice thing to do. But the thought of listening to another more sports talk made me wants to stab myself in the face with a fork. "Um, no. Not really. It's not you. It's just... I don't think we have much in common." 

He nodded a little. "Well, I mean, maybe we actually do if I'd shut up and ask you some stuff." At least he had the courtesy to appear embarrassed. "So what are you doing in Australia?" 

"Work study program. I'm going to be a marine biologists and I'm here studying for a semester, but I'll be going home in two weeks." 

"Oh," he fidgeted in his seat. "Um..." 

"Not very good at small talk?" 

He blushed. "No. I'm sorry this is such a bad date."  
_________________________  
We ended said bad date a few minutes later, both of us feeling embarrassed down to our toes and I vowed to drown Lola the next time I saw her. My shared apartment was down the street and walking in the door was a welcome relief from the near frying heat that was radiating off the street. Brussel was no where to be seen and if I know her, she was probably tangled up with her boyfriend somewhere on the coast. 

I dumped my bag on the kitchen table and pawed around the fridge for a moment before deciding that I wasn't hungry, I was bored. Disappointed, too, if I was being honest. I knew that getting involved with anyone while I was here, that going out on dates was pointless but I couldn't help but feel let down that the one date I did finally go on had turned out to be terrible and underwhelming. Not that it was any different back home. The only boy had really ever dated seriously had ended things after a year, telling me that my sarcasm and "lack of submission" was such a turn off that he couldn't even look at me anymore. I've always know that I'm not everyone's cup of tea. Sarcasm is my defense. I'm very passionate about animals and committed to being a vegan. Throw in the fact that my pizza to excercise ratio is terribly off, that my lips and hips are too generous, and I can't take romanctic gestures seriously... I'm a lost cause when it comes to dating. 

I'm almost prepared to throw myself a little pity party (complete with vegan ice cream and the cheap booze Brussel has stashed away for 'girl emergencies') but then my phone buzzes in my pocket again. Hoping it's Lola (so I can ream her out), I'm a little surprised to see I have four messages waiting on me.

**From: Michael**  
 _Salem is a cute name. Like that cat from Sabrina the Teenage Witch._

**From: Michael**  
 _Saved your # in my phone as 'Salem the Teenage Kitty' hahaha. Are you someone's skin coat yet or is everything ok?_

**From: Michael**  
 _Herro? HERRRROOOO? You're definitely a skin suit by now. I lose more friends this way...._

**From: Michael**  
 _Salem, SPEAK TO ME. Give me a sign that you are still alive. You didn't even tell me that guy's name. How am I supposed to help you if I don't know his name?_

There's a moment of pause where I think about just deleting all the texts. This was basically a burner phone while I was over here because the service would be disconnected before I ever landed on American soil. But then again, why not have someone to talk to? Lola wasn't going to be much fun once she found out how spectacularly hard her match making plans fell through and Brussel was haivng too much fun without me. 

**To: Michael**  
 _I'm alive and well. Slightly worried that you've lost friends to Buffalo Bill wannabes though... what sort of people are you hanging out with?_

**From Michael**  
 _Terrible people. I complimented your name earlier, in case you didn't notice. Compliment me now._

**To: Michael**  
 _Um, Michael was an Archangel?? And I don't think calling me a teenage kitty is a compliment._

**From: Michael**  
 _I am not amused. And kitties are great!_

**To: Michael**  
 _Cats are cool but I'm not a teenager. Sooo..._

**From: Michael**  
 _Uh... how old are you?_

**To: Michael**  
 _Uh... 20. Uhhh... how old are you?_

**From: Michael**  
 _24_

**From: Michael**  
 _I'm lying. I'm 18._

**To: Michael**  
 _Aw, an infant. How sweet. I'm going to take a nap. So, later?_

**From: Michael**  
 _INFANT?! I'm not the one who needs a nap! Old people need naps!_

I laughed a little, plugging my phone into the charger. 

Let him stew over that for a while.


	2. You Kind of Owe Me.

 

My phone was ringing.

I'll never get used to Australia. Never. The heat is like being in the seventh layer of hell, roasting on Satan's spit above his dinner table. Even with a fan on, I woke up drenched in sweat, hair sticking to my neck and face and mouth. The more I tried to push my hair back, the more helplessly tangled I became and the stupid phone would not quit ringing and I was literally about to lose until, mercifully, the phone dinged that I had a missed call and my hair decided to turn my face loose.

But not even a second later, my phone rang again.

I figured it was Brussel. Drunk. By this point, I was a pro at illegally driving her car to pick her up from bars without getting caught. I mean, we had had the one mishap where I nearly sideswiped a pedestrian who was way too close to the sidewalk for any kind of safety, but still. I was gold.

It was already dark outside (meaning my little nap had lasted longer than intended) and the screen of my lit phone blinded me to the point that I didn't even care who it was, I just wanted the light and the incessant ringing to stop.

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Brussel?"

"Uhhh."

"Craig?"

"Ummm."

And then the line went dead. Before I could even scroll back through my call log to see what weirdo had just wasted five seconds of my life, my phone lit up with a text message.

**From: Michael**  
_So like... you sound hot._

**To: Michael**  
_THAT WAS YOU?_

**From: Michael**  
_Well, like, yeah. I mean... yes. It me._

I didn't even know how to respond. Part of me found it hilarious that he had stuttered his way through 5.5 seconds of non-conversation before he hung up but part of me was really disturbed that this wrong number would call me at night.

**From: Michael**  
_Crossed a line, didn't I?_

**To: Michael**  
_You could say that._

**From: Michael**  
_Sorry. I thought, for whatever reason, that it would be funny and then your voice was so sleepy and cute and I just kind of, well, you heard me. I'm sorry. Really._

**From: Michael**  
_Ok, so I complimented your cute voice so now you compliment me. Like with the name thing only make this a real compliment._

**To: Michael**  
_When you said 'Uhhh' you sounded like Butthead from Bevis and Butthead_.

**From: Michael**  
_OK SO YOU NEED LESSONS ON HOW TO COMPLIMENT A GUY I'M JUST SAYING._

I rolled my eyes, tossing my phone on my bed. There was too much stuff for me to do around here to waste time chatting with some stranger. My last final was tomorrow and then I needed to pack up my stuff because it would be time to leave before I knew it. I needed to concentrate on the friendships I had made, the impact my leaving was going to have on them, and focus less on talking to some random weirdo.

But my friends weren't around. Brussel probably wouldn't be home tonight. I wanted to strangle Lola. My classmates were most definitely studying... like I should be. But by the time I pull my biology book out and get settled at my desk, my phone is dinging again and as annoying as Michael is, I have to admit that he is mildly entertaining.

**From: Michael**  
_I think if you ever saw me in person, you'd compliment me more. I'm like a god_.

**From: Michael**  
_Ok, that's a lie. I'm not god-like. I've been described as kitten-esque_.

**From: Michael**  
_Not like... that weird sexual kitten stuff. Unless you're into that._

**From: Michael**  
_But we could maybe hang out... if you're into that?_

The sensible part of my brain laughs, says no freakin' way, and starts trying to tug the less sensible part of my brain back to my biology book. But, damn, my less sensible side puts a hell of a good fight up. Because sure, it's risky. Probably a little dangerous. Definitely stupid. But I'm also bored. And I tell myself that I can jet out of there if things look too crazy.

**To: Michael**  
_We could... under two conditions._

**From: Michael**  
_Which are??_

**To: Michael**  
1\. _Promise me that you aren't actually Buffalo Bill and that my skin is safe and will stay intact the duration of our meeting._

**From: Michael**  
_Ok, promise. 2?_

**To: Michael**  
_2\. Don't fall in love with me._

**From: Michael**  
_Ok, Jamie Sullivan, i'll be sure to keep my Landon Carter in check._

We exchanged vague info about what was close to both of us and ended up settling on a coffee shop that stayed open late.

**From: Michael**  
_I'll be the one with the blue hair :)_

**To: Michael**  
_Wait, what?_

But this time, I was the one left hanging.

__________________________________________________________

I left Brussel a note on the counter with the place I was supposed to be meeting Michael, my telephone number, and his number just in case he really did turn out to be some sort of psycho. I floundered before giving her a brief description of how the two of us had met because Brussel has the best mom face I've ever seen on a 20 year old girl and I could only imagine how disappointed she would be that I was literally taking my life in my own hands and walking blindly into a situation such as this. When I thought about all of this, I was actually glad she wasn't around to dissuade me from going.

The walk from our apartment to the coffee shop to the apartment was short and I arrived right on time despite leaving a little later than I should have (my quick note to Brussel turned into a 2 page essay on meeting strangers and leftovers in the fridge if she was hungry). I peered in through the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the blue haired Michael before I actually committed to walking in. I spotted him a few tables away from the window and my stomach dropped because he definitely wasn't 18. I'd be lucky if he was younger than 40.

"That's not me," a voice said behind me. "I mean, what are the odds of two dudes having blue hair at the same coffee shop but still. That's not me."

I turned to face him and my brain went into overdrive trying to figure out how to one up him. Adopting my best British accent (which was still pretty terrible), I gave him a perplexed look. "Sorry?"

His smirk faltered. "Are you... Salem?"

"I'm just waiting on my sister."

The blush that splotched his pale face gave me supreme satisfaction and it took every ounce of my self-control to not bounce in sheer happiness at having pulled this off. "I'm sorry. I thought... you... sorry," he had the grace to excuse himself as he gently pushed past me to open the door.

I let him get inside and settled at a table before I walked in, all but beaming, and plunked myself in the chair across from him. "You really should stop assuming things. Haven't you heard that it makes an ass of you and... well, really, just you at this point."

He's cute. Even though he's gone all bashful and some unseen cat clearly has his tongue, he's cute. He looks like he's just rolled out of bed and tried to comb his blue hair into some semblance. "Your hair matches your flannel," I offer.

"Is that a compliment?" He questions, the blush finally starting to fade from his checks. "I mean, it's still not a very good one but I guess anything is better than saying I sound like Butthead."

I shrug. "How about you don't look 18? Like you look 16, at the most. This feels very wrong. Do you need a sippy cup?"

"That's definitely not a compliment," he crossed his arms, pouting. Which made him look even younger. "And I am 18. Almost 19, thank you very much."

"I don't believe you." I held out my hand. "I need to see some ID."

He paused like he was waiting on me to say _just kidding_ but I wiggled my hand in impatience until he pulled his wallet out and plopped his ID into my waiting hand. "Michael Gordon Clifford," I read out loud. "Green eyes, blonde hair," I looked up eyeing his blue hair. " _Right._ Height-"

"That's enough," he jerked the card out of my hand. "What about you? Where's your ID?"

"Oh, well, that's private info."

"But mine's not?"

"I'm not the one who looks like an infant."

By this point, I can tell he's not insulted because he cracks a smile. I'm never sure how people are going to react to my blunt humor so I'm vaguely pleased that he's not taking my teasing at face value. "Well, you look old," he shrugs. "Like real old. Late 30's, early 40's old."

"I'm actually 54, so thank you."

He holds out his hand this time. "Come on, now. Turn about is fair play. Hand it over."

I begrudgingly dig my passport out of my bag and hand it to him. "Be nice."

He opens it and laughs. "Cute picture!"

"I said be nice!"

"I said it was cute! Jeez," he shakes his head, a smile lighting his face as he reads on. "Eloise Salem Reyes. Born October 31st of 1993. Brown eyes, black hair. You are hella short. Weight-"

"That is enough out of you," I grabbed my passport back. "Now you know. I'm not a shriveled old woman, I just look that way." I stuck the passport back in my bag and when I look up, he's still smiling at me.

"So now that we've insulted each other... can I buy you a coffee?"

I guess I could actually split now if I wanted to. We'd wasted a good bit of time being stupid and I could feign insult and actually leave. But he was cute and he honestly wasn't offended by my teasing and that is a mighty rare combination so I might as well just stay. "Coffee, no. Something cold, yes. Honestly, how do you people handle this heat? It's like being inside an oven."

He rolled his eyes. "Wuss. What do you want?"

After he set our drinks down on the table, he fiddled with the lid on his drink. "So, what's an American doing down under?"

"School. Well, a work study for the semester. I'm going into Marine Biology."

Most people give me a _that's interesting but not really_ sort of face and then launch into another question because, I mean, marine biology isn't that interesting unless you're into it. But Michael raised his eyebrows in surprise, his eyebrow piercing barely glinting in the dim light. "That's cool. So, like, what does that entail? Keeping the oceans clean or taking care of the animals?"

"Both. Monitoring the ocean levels and chemical levels. Watching for trends in animal migration and tracking increasing or decreasing population rates."

"What made you want to be a marine biologist?"

I shrugged. "I like animals and I like the ocean. Seemed simple enough. What about you? What do you do?"

He shifted. "Nothing, really. I mean, I'm in a band and we tour and stuff but like... I don't go to school or anything." He seemed slightly embarrassed by the fact.

"Well, that's pretty awesome. What's your band's name?"

"5 Seconds of Summer. We, um, we actually just finished touring with One Direction. You heard of them?"

I had to laugh. "Yeah, I've heard of them. Pretty much have to live under a rock to escape them. My little sister is a huge fan. She swears she's going to marry Niall."

"Everyone loves Niall," Michael grinned. "And I just realized your name is Eloise."

I grimaced as he laughed. "You are not allowed to call me that. Ever."

"Why not? It's cute."

"My parents call me Eloise. It's not cute."

"How about... Weezie?"

"No and if you insist on calling me that, I'm just going to leave." I stood up as if I intended to leave

He was slightly more serious, but still laughing as he tugged on my arm to make me sit back down. "I'm only messing with you, Salem."

"Yeah, well, you better be joking... Gordon." I mock glared at him.

"Hey," he warned. "That is my middle name. Eloise is 100% your first name. There is a difference."

I gave a noncommital shrug, wiping condensation off of my bottled water. "If you say so, G."

Michael scowled, flicking his hair out of his eyes. He drummed absently on the table. Are you sure you don't want something else to drink? I mean, water is so blah and they have really awesome frozen drinks."

"Nah. It takes like a mile long order to make any of those vegan and 90% of the time, they still don't get it right."

"You're vegan?"

I hated telling people I was vegan because 9 times out of 10 whoever I was talking to would either try to convince me of the many wonders and virtues of bacon or accuse me of being _preachy_ when I tried to explain to them why I stopped eating meat or using any animal products. But Michael was a captive audience, not rolling his eyes or telling me that animals were meant to be consumed. I explained to him the horrors of the meat and dairy industry, the inhumanity in test labs and circuses.

"I never knew all of that," he told me once I finished. "Still, it must be hard to transition into that lifestyle."

I nodded in agreement. "I grew up on a farm so my parents were just like... seriously? I think the hardest part was cutting out dairy and then becoming more aware of where all of my stuff comes from."

"So what made you decide to go vegan?"

"Kind of hypocrtical to try and save one set of animals while actively participating in the torture of another one, right?" I twisted my hands in my lap, acutely aware that I had been talking way longer than I should have. "Well, I've talked non-stop for like two hours. What about you? What are you into?"

But before he could reply, the barista announced that were closing and for the first time, I realized that we were the only ones left in the formerly full cafe. Michael gulped down the rest of his now cold coffee as I threw my empty water bottle away.

Once we were outside, Michael asked me if I needed a lift home but I declined. "I'm not even a block away."

"Are you sure? I don't mind."

The truth was that I was feeling pretty self-conscious about the fact that I had blabbed on all night and hadn't had the presence of mind to just shut up and ask him any real questions about himself. I hated when poeple did that to me and here I was doingthe same to this poor boy. We both danced awkwardly around saying good-be until he finally leaned in for a hug.

And the boy have good hug.

Typically I find that guys either give you the loose you're-my-bro hug or the too tight, near suffocating I-want-to-feel-your-entire-body hug. But somehow this hug was the right mix. Tight enough to feel less than friendly, not so tight though that I felt sexually harrassed when he let me go.

"Text me when you get home so I'll know you're safe."

I assured him I would. When I got home, the place was empty. I crumpled up the note I left Brussel and popped my lunch leftovers in the microwave.

**To: Michael  
** _Made it home safe :)_

**To: Michael  
** _Also, sorry for being lame company and totaly monopolizing the conversation._

After my food was finished heating, I flipped on the TV and skimmed through the channels, waiting on Michael to text me back. But a half hour later, my phone was still silent. I guess I couldn't really blame him. I had probably come across as self-involved, self-righteous vegan. He was probably glad when the coffee shop closed up for the night. And it sholdn't matter to me that he definitely wasn't going to text me back beause I was going home soon anyways.

It did matter, though, and it mattered because even if he actually was bored with the conversation, he had at least pretended to listen and that was new to me. He was witty and sarcastic and cute and the more I thought about how I had made a terrible impression, the more my mood went downhill. So I washed up my plate and cup, brushed my teeth, and got into bed praying that sweet sleep would alleviate my increasing embarrassment.

And sleep would have taken me over if my phone hadn't beeped right as I was dozing off.

**From: Michael  
** _Sorry, phone died. And what are you going on about? I had a great time._

**From: Michael  
** _But you kind of owe me for being their for you during your time of uncertainty with whats-his-face_

**To:** Michael  
 _I'm sorry, how does telling me to watch my skin equate to 'being there for me'?_

**From: Michael  
** _Moral support, duh. And for that, you should meet me for lunch tomorrow._

I agreed to meet him at a place near the harbor and bid him a good night.

**From: Michael  
** _Sweet dreams... Eloise :)_

 


End file.
